Friendly Fire
by Inked Dragon
Summary: When Ryan is excluded from a road trip to California,due to being sick, he never expects it would be the day that New York becomes infested with zombies.


Friendly Fire

-A Tale About Unlikely Allies In A Zombie Apocalypse

_Ryan watched the cars go by from the park _bench on which he sat. He wore a white hoodie with black spatters, red and white converse, and a pair of white jeans. As usual, there was not a single star visible in the sky, obliterated by the bright city lights of New York. Brushing a red strand of hair out of his face-his hair had been permanantly dyed rainbow, it's a long story-he sighed and headed towards the nearest Starbucks. Of course, he was the only one of his friends who _didn't_ get to go on the trip to California; his Ma had said he was still too sick. He had recently been diagnosed with...well, the doctor hadn't said. He just called some company called "CEDA". Said to keep a close eye on Ryan, bring him back right away if he starts acting odd. "Bloody brilliant", he muttered to himself sarcasticly. Ryan had never acted quite like most others; he took most things at face value, could be jumpy, could be obnoxious, or could turn over and be withdrawn and quiet. Oh, and the whole spur-of-the-moment-rainbow-hair-idea incident.

**Meanwhile, In A Car Headed to California...**

"Oi! It ain't been your turn to pick the music!", Rick protested from the back seat of the van. Thomas, a rather tall and lanky sort of person with dark brown hair, had decided he was the "King of the Van", and it was thus always his turn to choose what musical selections played in the car. Carly, next to Rick in the back, cast her eyes to the heavens. _Boys_. Matthew, a blond-haired green-eyed person, was driving; he didn't usually mind when they argued, since it happened all the time. Rick leaned forward and snatched the CD that Thomas had been readying to put in the radio; Rick as the 'average joe' out of them all, and also Ryan's closest friend. He had black hair, brown eyes, and wore a simple outfit of a T-shirt and jeans. "Your songs always suck ass", Rick said, casually tossing it over his shoulder into the trunk.

"Do not!", retorted Thomas, turning around to stik his tongue out at him.

"Do too, and you know it", replied Rick.

"Well, at leas-", Thomas began, before the van swerved off the road, tumbled front over tail twice, then came to a stop upsidedown.

"Uhhn...", Rick climbed out of the wrecked car. Matt seemed to have blacked out, but the others were struggling to get out as well. After tugging Matt from his place at the driver's seat, he went around to the other side of the car to help out the others.

"Shit, man...what happened back there?", Thomas asked, leaning against the van for support; his leg seemed fairly injured. Carly glanced over, holding a rag against her forhead to stop the bleeding of a cut that had opened across it. Matthew finally began to wake up, attempting to prop himself up with an arm. He winced, falling back onto the ground.

Rick, who was the least injured as well as the nearest to him, helped him up and guided him to a large, semi-smooth rock to sit on. "I think it's broken", he inferred, after doing his best to examine it through the golden jacket that was already being stained scarlet.

"No shit, detective!", hissed Matt, clearly in pain. Thomas limped over with Carly, sitting next to Matt.

"What happened back there, dude? Never seen you do that before...", he said, smoothing back his hair. Matt shook his head to clear it, glancing over as Rick made a tournequette out of a portion of his jacket he tore off.

"There was this guy, just standing in the road. I almost just, you know, pulled over and cursed him out, but then he turns towards us, and he had blood _all over his face_. He was eating something, looked like-like an _arm_", Matt remembered. "Ow!", he flinched away from Rick as he finished tying the bindings. "Does it really need to be that tied on that tight?".

"If you want to stop bleeding, yes".

_Ryan whirled about, crowbar in _hand. After ten cannibalistic freaks tried to eat him, he decided that carrying a weapon would be a point in his favor. A crowd of people were running down the steet, trying to escape the ravenous flesh-eating creatures. Some of them were clearly bitten, trying to cover it with rags, clothing, toys. They would turn soon. Ryan had seen it happen, ordering a mocha. The guy had hunched over, blood spewing from his mouth, then got right back up and began munching on the lawyer woman next to him. More had appeared, streaming after crowds of frightened people fleeing buildings. Now he began scaling the staircase of a now-empty hotel, destroying some of the stairs to keep the cannibals out.

Resting on the rooftop, he leaned against an old wooden crate that was up there. He'd brought a backpack of supplies and a sleeping bag. It's contents included a large packet of beef jerky, a few cans of tuna and some crackers, three water bottles, his swiss army knife, a packet of matches, and an assortment of candy bars and chips. Rolling out the sleeping bag, he sat down and looked around; one building was on fire in the distance. His heart was beating faster than it ever had, and he tried to calm down. "Your friends are still safe, they're fine, they're probably lazing about in some beachside house they're renting for the weekend, they're totally _fiiiinnne_", he muttered to himself.

"No, Rick, we are _not_ going to be fucking fine!", seethed Thomas, "We are stuck in the middle of nowhere on the side of the road, and there's weird arm-eating freaks, and fuck me I'm scared!".


End file.
